


Invictus

by Kells



Series: gifts, requests, and other little bits [9]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Female Steve Rogers, Football | Soccer, Injury Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-27
Updated: 2014-10-23
Packaged: 2018-02-15 00:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2208816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kells/pseuds/Kells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Striker James 'Bucky' Barnes sustains horrific injuries at the hands of Red Devils Schmidt and Zola; Captain Rogers of the women's team gives up her whole career to hold her husband's hand through his recovery. Four years later everyone except Tony Stark is thrilled to have them back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the bludgeonings of chance

**Author's Note:**

> don't know if I have any excuse for this except that the World Cup feels like it's made this whole year worthwhile for me, so I guess it was inevitable that that would bleed into the other thing I seem to be spending most of this year on…?

Stephanie Barnes, also known as Steph Rogers in her dual capacity as goalkeeper and captain of the women’s team at FC Bayern München, felt only slightly guilty for enjoying the opportunity to stop thinking about defensive strategy and just be a WAG for a bit. She screamed her approval with the rest of the Allianz Arena as her husband’s team made rapid progress towards the goal that would secure Bayern’s place in the Champions’ League semi-finals. Jim Morita blazed a trail down the centre of the pitch, supported by Falsworth and Jones but mostly intent on the gap between Johann Schmidt and his left goalpost.

Steph’s attention wasn’t on the advancing midfielders, however, but on the lone striker staying carefully onside on the goalkeeper’s other side. This was James Buchanan Barnes, whose decidedly low-key approach had raised eyebrows at first but who was fast becoming a favourite of the home crowd as he continued to vindicate Howard Stark’s faith in a complete unknown- and an American, no less- with goal after clinically precise goal.

Steph, who had been playing soccer with Bucky since they were grade schoolers, began to grin as he stepped confidently into position to catch the rebound of Morita’s powerful effort. Her best friend and vice-captain smirked with satisfaction.

“He's going to get another, isn't he?”

Stephanie was still nodding when she realized what United’s goalkeeper meant to do. The look of triumph froze on her face, her grip on Peggy’s hand turning to steel.

“Peg, they’re gonna-”

Bucky took the shot, completely focused on his target. The ball found the net, but for what must have been the first time in Champions’ League history no one was paying any attention to the deciding goal. Schmidt, charging at his opponent head-on, had twisted as he leapt- he was way too late to get anywhere near the ball, but his shoulder connected hard with the striker’s face.

An unhappy hush choked the stadium as James Barnes hit the ground like he’d been shot. Toro Raymond was the first of Bucky's teammates to react, dropping to his knees and shouting for medical. Falsworth and Morita suddenly found themselves working hard to prevent Gabe Jones from snapping Schmidt’s neck in his righteous anger.

Steph, already shaky, swayed on her feet as the doctors worked to stabilize their patient.

“That’s oxygen. Why’s he- oh god, is he not breathing?”

Peggy pulled her roughly into a hug that was obviously meant mostly to make sure she wouldn’t hurt herself if she passed out. When her phone buzzed, Steph answered it without taking her eyes off her husband.

“Howard?”

All the manager needed to know was whether she wanted to go with the ambulance or if she’d let him drive her and Peggy to the hospital. It was clear that he favoured the latter, and Steph knew Peggy would too. Fortunately, being married to James Barnes had never been a team sport.  

“I don't want him on his own.”

Even Howard knew better than to argue with Captain Rogers. By the time the shaken referee allowed the game to resume, Steph was holding one of Bucky’s hands tight between both of hers and watching his chest rise and fall while a wan paramedic tried vainly to find some indication that he might wake, and soon. Schmidt was sent off in disgrace, Steph would find out later, and Jones converted the awarded penalty with vicious satisfaction as soon as some defender had scrambled to fill the gap between the posts. There was more, of course- Howard’s hurried, harried press conference assuring fans that they hadn’t actually lost their striker, for example, and the way every post-match interview had been a solemn declaration that they’d win the final, god damn it, for Bucky if not for themselves. All Stephanie would ever remember clearly of the worst night of her life was the sight of her husband sprawled in the grass, limp as a ragdoll and pale as death.

Schmidt would never play in Germany again, the press agreed, and certainly not _for_ Germany, but it was poor consolation considering Bucky Barnes was still out of commission in some hospital they hadn't identified yet. The couple who had gone from Bayern's unlikely power couple in the making to the much-mourned martyrs of Munich football in less than two weeks made headlines for the twelfth consecutive day with the sensational news that Stephanie had officially turned down her long-guaranteed captaincy of the US women’s national team. Her girls were almost universally tipped to win the World Cup that year, but Stephanie's decision was firm. She went a whole step further by announcing her withdrawal from club football in the same unequivocal statement. She wished both FC Bayern and the USWNT every good thing, the ex-Captain Rogers said simply, but her husband's health had to come first.

No one seemed sure whether this exit constituted a retirement or some kind of indefinite leave of absence; Howard Stark, probably the only person in Germany who knew for sure where the couple even were, smiled mysteriously and insisted with his practiced, uncompromising charm that they were doing as well as they could be, and that he had _no further comment, danke, tschüss._

Miles away, safe in the anonymity offered by her mother’s maiden name, Stephanie Barnes promised urgently that she’d do anything, anything at all he wanted, if he’d just open his goddamn eyes for more than three seconds, Bucky, for god's sake. Not for the first time in their lives together, the young man beat poor odds to come through for the girl he'd loved practically since he'd first come across her getting shouted at across a Brooklyn playground for insisting that soccer was so better'n baseball, you doofuses, so there. 

“C’mere,” Bucky suggested in a creaking whisper, blinking at his wife with more determination than focus. 

“Stay. ‘s all I want.”

She kissed him so fiercely that the attending doctor started forward in concern, but it was the first time since any of the consultants had met her that Stephanie was smiling like she remembered what it meant to be happy. On balance, everyone except the cervical-spinal specialist agreed, spousal enthusiasm could only be conducive to recovery.

“Steph,” Bucky ventured later, stronger and less disoriented with the benefit of water, warm blankets, and his wife curled around him like she'd never, ever leave. 

“Where are we, even?”

She laughed, taking his hand to try and cushion the blow.

“Home, sweetheart. New York.”


	2. out of the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a good wingman can set you up even when you're not in the country. two good wingmen can save a career you're not even thinking about yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Toro, who was actually, literally, part of a youth squad with Bucky in comics canon all the way back in the 1940s: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toro_(comics)

Toro Raymond brought the debate that had been dragging on in front of him to a halt with a sigh as pitying as it was impatient.

“Give it up, gents. There’s only one answer. You don’t want Drake; Alicair doesn’t want you. No one in their right mind wants anything to do with Creed- honest to goodness I think that guy's got more red cards than goals to his name. What you need is to get our boy Barnes to put his name on that line before La Liga wakes up to the fact that he’s back in the game.”

Coach Fury’s face gave nothing away, but his new assistant coach put down the charts he had been studying to give the captain of their team his full attention.

“You do mean James Barnes?”

“No, Ashley Barnes at Burnley. Did I forget to mention I moonlight as his agent when I’m not trying to keep this circus from collapsing? Phil, _of course_ I mean Bucky Barnes.”

Toro’s defiant emphasis on his friend’s name was cover for his lasting regret that no one at Bayern called James Barnes ‘Bucky’ anymore. It had only been three and a half years, but a lot could change in four seasons of top-flight football. The self-declared ‘Commandos,’ a tight-knit group of defenders and midfielders who had taken it upon themselves to see Toro and Bucky through their transition from the youth team and never really stopped thinking of them as their miniature mascots, had already been looking at their last season or two when they had gone up against Schmidt’s team. When one of their cherished young’uns had been spirited away without ceremony, leaving their manager a distracted wreck of the man Howard Stark had been before, the entire contingent had decided that retirement looked better than staggering mindlessly on.

Just one season later, Stark had baffled fans and analysts alike by signing his own son one week and then handing in his resignation the next. His subsequent appointment to the New York Red Bulls, possibly the kitschiest team in the world, had made no sense to anyone until a good three years later, when Stark's most famous protégé- and, arguably, his closest friend- had surfaced unexpectedly to announce his complete recovery, his shock return to professional football, and his brand new contract with Stark’s team all in the same five-minute press call. Those kids, the Munich papers had sighed with the possessive affection they had never lost for both James and his wife Stephanie, really did have economy of speech down to an art form.

Toro, who had known a lot of the details before most people because he did actually talk to his friends when he wasn't on the pitch, had shown his support by giving a much-quoted statement about how glad he was that Bucky was working again, and what a shame it was that the idiot had decided to play in the worst damn league he could have picked. When he’d received an American flag in the mail, unaccompanied by any kind of note but addressed in Stephanie’s even hand, he’d hung it up as soon as he’d stopped laughing and called them immediately to show it off on Skype.

“He’s been out of the loop for more than three years,” Coulson fretted. “For one of those he wasn’t even walking unassisted.”

Toro fought the urge to snap that it hadn’t exactly been Bucky’s fault some bloody-minded asshole had somehow forgotten that the Champions' League was not an actual battlefield.

“Yes, and now he’s been back for 22 weeks and his stats are already higher than Loki’s.”

Loki had gone by his own name- Lukas Torvaldsen- before he’d wreaked enough havoc at Barcelona to earn the kind of South American-style nickname that quickly became a whole new identity. The self-declared chaotician was one of Fury’s most expensive signings- in his whole career, not just in two years at Bayern- but he was already being called the best forward the team had seen in years.

“He’s scoring in the USA,” Fury pointed out. “They have one good goalkeeper. He plays in England.”

Toro made an effort to unclench his jaw when he registered the ugly sound of his own teeth grinding.

“I'm not asking you to rehabilitate some MLS trainee. Bucky’s Bundesliga through and through- of course he’s only in New York because of Stark.”

Howard Stark had given both James and Stephanie their start in professional football, everyone who’d met them knew by now, but more than that he had put almost as much into ensuring Bucky's recovery and return to professional soccer as Bucky himself had done.

Improbably, Fury looked interested.

“You really believe he can be what we need?"

Toro spread out the tactical sheets Coulson had only just folded, gesturing excitedly as he made his point.

“Here, look. Leave Banner and the back four; they’re fine as is. Send Wagner and Parker up the centre, here, so they can make the choice when it comes down to it. Stark and Loki stay where they are. You get me my finisher, and put him up left with me. Their goalkeeper freaks out about Stark and his taunting, the defenders trip over each other trying to deal with Loki. Team Diva takes their defence to pieces; Barnes and I laugh our way to the bank."

They'd done it before, and they'd been a hell of a lot greener then. More fearless, Toro thought ruefully, but also much less experienced.

"We’ll top the table before Christmas. I'd bet the Lamborghini on it.”

He didn't make a claim like _that_ lightly, but Coulson was still frowning at the numbers.

“He hasn’t played a full 90 minutes since his return.”

“Are you not listening to me? He’s been back six months back from the injury that _nearly killed him_ , and he’s basically playing for his dad. It's not just that, anyway- he’s always been a specialist when you get down to it.”

Even before anyone had any reason to doubt his fitness Bucky had only rarely played a whole game through. Quick, dangerous forwards were always the most heavily marked, and Howard- dubbed ‘the engineer’ in his youth for his own almost mathematical accuracy as just that brand of striker- had been loathe to leave his best asset vulnerable to either clumsy tackles or dirty tactics any longer than Bucky needed to get the job done.

Fury, Toro realised, was beginning to smirk. Coulson raised an inquiring eyebrow instead of asking the question out loud. 

“Stark’s going to have a cow,” the coach predicted, matter-of-fact. Tony, as everyone knew and no one completely understood, was almost unmanageably touchy about his father's legacy at FC Bayern. 

“Does it matter? This is right for all of us, Coach. If Tony Stark doesn’t like that he can just-”

“Alright,” Fury barked. “Your opinion is noted, Raymond. Coulson- find out how to get in touch with his people.”

“‘His people’ are Steph and Howard. Two out of three will be in town next month. Shall I tell them I’m bringing some friends when we go to lunch?”

Coulson looked him up and down with the appraising look his team had learned to dread and admire in equal measure.

“How long have you and Stark been planning this?”

“Honestly?”

Coach and vice-coach alike waited expectantly.

“Since the first time he made it across his living room on his own.”

Nick Fury nodded slowly.

"Set it up."

Toro grinned.


	3. the fell clutch of circumstance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> press conference: FC Bayern welcomes former Wunderkind- Stark stages another walkout!

“I was there, you know. At that game. Uncle Ben wouldn’t let me look until the doctor said he wasn’t dead.”

“Like you’d remember. Weren’t you still on breast milk when Barnes was at this club?”

Peter Parker scowled on principle rather than because he thought it would make his teammates stop cracking jokes. It wasn’t like he minded the fact that everyone knew he was the youngest midfielder to make the professional startling lineup. But he’d been fourteen, he grumbled even though Sam Wilson was fully aware of his age, and he’d been following Bucky and Toro since they were seventeen and on the little-boys team. Peter had been to games before, but never a Champions League game, and he’d been so excited that Uncle Ben had been rolling his eyes and muttering grave warnings about privilege and responsibility even as he helped Peter cover his face in so much red and blue facepaint that his aunt had thought they’d given up and bought a mask by the time they were done. Barnes’ first goal had left Peter swearing blind that he was going to make it just like Bucky- one day that would be him up there. The second had left him very close to tears, his aunt shushing him as she promised without any way to keep her word that Peter’s favourite player was going to be okay.

“I wasn’t even watching the game before that,” Clint Barton confessed as he slid into his seat on Sam’s other side. Until Coulson had brought Barton over as Sam’s partner in defence, the left back had been marking time in a second-division English club and trying not to stew too visibly over the unfairness of the thing. Having decided he wasn’t going to be bitter about yet another Bayern-United quarterfinal, Clint had been nursing a beer and talking to his brother on Skype when the internet had lost its collective mind over the possibly-premeditated almost-murder of a man who might who might well turn out to have won his team the game with the last kick of his career.

“It was a real stunner, you- wait, that’s horrible. I didn’t mean that as a pun. Don’t let me use that word around him, okay?”

Wilson patted him on the back.

“Has anyone actually seen him play since Stark brought him back?”

A few of them had looked him up on Youtube and so on, but no one had actually been to New York except their captain. Peter shrugged.

“Toro thinks he’s still got it.”

Everyone knew  _that_ \- there had been so many retrospective pieces about the undying bond between ‘the Invaders’, as a distraught defender had once called Howard Stark’s unstoppable youngsters, that Fury had almost had to discipline his vice captain for suggesting in public that Stephanie Rogers might not have realised what she was getting herself into when she’d married a man who was  _that_ close to his best friend.

“There’s no way Stark’s going to last the whole press conference,” Wilson muttered. Tony, punctual for once in his life, was already at the long table in front of the press. He seemed to be chatting amicably enough with Coulson, but he was also fussing with his jacket, his chair, his microphone, and anything else he could reach.

“That’s a risk at the best of times,” Loki drawled, filling the seat in front of Peter’s. He wiggled his fingers as the press noticed his arrival and smirked when several women sighed longingly.

“What I want to know is why everyone’s so sure this Bucky of yours is going to be any good after four seasons out of circulation.”

His disparaging glance took in the starry-eyed members of the press, who usually looked a lot more like sharks that had scented blood.

“Evidently these people love the narrative, but people start thinking about retiring at 26, not starting over in the top flight.”

“Strikers start thinking about retiring, maybe.”

Bruce Banner, already pushing 30, spoke with the complacency of a goalkeeper who knew he was still only getting better with time. He’d almost got a handle on the temper that had kept him out of the top flight for some time, too- he was one of the best, when he was on form, but teams with serious prospects of winning the league had tended to steer clear of a goalkeeper who regularly got himself sent off for losing it entirely- and usually at the referee.

“He’s got at least a couple of good years left.”

Loki rolled his eyes, not quite good-naturedly; an impatient wave of his hand indicated that Banner was making the same point as Loki- ‘a couple of years left’ was not a traditional entrypoint at FC Bayern.  

“He did really well this season,” Peter reminded the group since Toro wasn’t there to make the same argument he’d made about thirty times already.

“Yes, but New York’s a glorified retirement home for ex-champions. If it weren’t for Stark and your Bucky no one in Germany would even remember that Major League Soccer exists.”

Wilson began to retort, but whatever he might have been saying was drowned out by the electrified roar of the crowd outside. Peter glanced around as the cameras began to flash and found half the room breathless with anticipation. Even Loki, who had watched his own brother join their team with barely more than his trademark you’ll-never-impress-me smile, looked faintly excited. Phil Coulson stood as the doors opened, a genuinely blissful expression in place of his usual bland politesse.

James Barnes entered the press room looking like he’d never been away, except that his hair was longer than Peter had ever seen it and he wasn’t grinning like a little boy on his birthday.

“I know,” Toro told the room in a mournful voice.

“Don’t worry- I’ve already told him we’ll bench him forever if he ever shows up with a headband.”

Barnes clucked his tongue.

“Make this ass captain for twenty minutes, he starts thinking he’s the coach as well.”

On any normal day, that would have been grounds for at least one scandalized headline about dissention in the ranks. Instead, a ripple of surprised laughter broke the ice, and Nick Fury made the formal introductions with a smile on his face. Clint was watching Tony closely, Peter saw; their vice captain’s smile was growing increasingly plastic as Barnes took his seat, waving to journalists he’d met before.  

“Ten euro says Stark walks before they bring out the shirt. Another ten if it’s about Howard.”

Loki all but licked his lips in anticipation; striker and defender shook hands as the press conference began in earnest.

Instead of the boisterous energy of his teenage years, this new, definitely adult James Barnes gave his answers with a kind of low-key intensity, paying close attention and speaking carefully, like every word was carefully chosen. He couldn’t tell them much about the incident itself- he barely remembered it, in fact- but he had no complaints about the way club and FA had handled the aftermath. Not, he added much too lightly, that he’d been paying much attention to legal battles while waiting for his doctors to figure out whether he’d ever walk again.

Asked how he’d decided to come back to professional football, Barnes smiled lopsidedly and murmured that it had been more a matter of finding out whether he could than wondering whether he should.

“Never meant to leave in the first place, did I?”

A few people went so far as to clap in support, but one or two of the veteran troublemakers seemed to remember what they were supposed to be doing.

“This isn’t the team you left. Can you really claim to hold your own against Loki after such a long absence?”

Barnes glanced at Toro uncertainly.

“Loki?”

“The striker,” the team’s captain reminded him calmly. On Fury’s other side, Tony looked interested for the first time since they’d started.

“You know, Lukas Torvaldsen?”

Barnes shrugged.

“Never heard of him. The Torvaldsen on this team is a defender, isn’t he?”

Loki’s grin froze to his face as his brother gave an uncertain wave. There were ten full ten seconds of awful silence before Barnes began to grin and Toro burst out laughing. Peter wasn’t the only one who was gobsmacked- he wasn’t sure anyone had ever tried to pull a prank at a press conference before. Their captain made no effort to look even a bit sorry.

“You guys really  _are_  going easy on the invalid. He’s been in New York, not the middle of the tundra!”

Barnes looked at his friend askance.

“Why would I  _ever_  be in the middle of the tundra?”

“I don’t know! Somewhere with no mass communications or social media, I meant.”

Even in the tundra, Barnes confessed, he was sure he’d have heard about the free kick that had won Bayern the league cup during Loki’s first season at the club.

“Picture perfect. I was so jealous I worked twice as hard on goddamn physio after that. Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure I can keep up.”

One brave soul ventured to ask whether Loki would like to reply. Coulson winced while Tony leaned forward eagerly, but Loki only muttered that anything approaching a challenge would be a welcome change from Bundesliga mediocrity, and that it was almost a pity they’d have to set that record together instead of dueling for it from opposite sides. Sam elbowed Peter, deeply amused.

“Even Loki’s joined the fan club.”

The striker turned around to offer them a withering look, but said nothing. Tony, unfortunately, had never learnt to be so continent.

“Are you kidding me with this? ‘Can you keep up with Loki’?”

Toro turned on his vice-captain with something almost threatening in his voice.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“What’s the matter with  _me?_  Raymond, you know as well as I do that if it were anyone else they’d be asking why Bayern would ever give the time of day to some old man who can’t even manage ninety minutes anymore, not giggling at this who-the-hell-is-Loki shit.”

Fury, sitting between them, intervened before their disagreement turned into the bust-up Loki- along with half of the English media, probably- was practically crossing his fingers for.

“That’s enough.”

Tony glared around the room as if every person present had betrayed him personally.

“Of course even the coach worships at the church of St James Martyr. I shouldn’t be surprised- I guess some things never change.”

No one could say Barnes didn’t at least make an effort. He laid a conciliatory hand on Tony’s arm.

“Look, Tony-”

The vice-captain rounded on his team’s new signing as though Barnes had just threatened Tony’s nearest and dearest, but even as Coulson jerked pre-emptively to his feet Stark seemed to think better of whatever he’d been about to say.

“Relax,” he muttered sullenly.

“I’m not going to ruin the family reunion _this_  time.”

Apparently choosing Fury as the least of too many evils, Stark nodded to him as he stood.

“Call me if anyone ever wakes up to the fact that this is a football team, not daytime television.”

Cameras flashed as the door slammed behind him. If everyone hadn’t all started talking at once, Peter thought they’d probably have been able to hear Tony’s Porsche revving violently. Clint and Loki shared a speaking look, then swapped crisp ten-euro notes without a word. At the centre of the chaos, Toro was muttering darkly under his breath, but Barnes himself looked more resigned than anything else. The gathered journalists quieted as he took the microphone, but someone else spoke first.

“It doesn’t take him 90 minutes to find the back of the net, you know.”

This time there were outright exclamations of enthusiasm- somehow, no one had even realised Stephanie Barnes was in the room. Peter could _see_ the old-timers kicking themselves for not checking sooner: Steph Rogers had always made a habit of turning up if Bucky Barnes had to take the mic. It wasn’t strictly allowed, but Howard had tended to allow it, and if there were ever a time when even Fury would make exceptions Peter thought that afternoon must be it. She’d never spoken out of turn before, though. Barnes himself looked torn between mischievous delight and professional dismay.

“Steph-”

“Well, if you’re not gonna tell them-”

“Cool it, Cap’n Rogers. I’ll tell them, okay?”

Barnes grinned; for the first time since he’d come in, Peter thought, he looked just like Bucky from back in the day.

“See, I haven’t ruined her completely.”

Even the management laughed a little. Stephanie glared at her husband, who smiled at her with such affection that Peter had to think manly thoughts about fast cars and hard liquor to stop himself from sighing like Gwen probably would when he told her.

“I’d never have come back here if I didn’t think I could hold my own. I’m not looking to go back to the glory days or anything like that- I just always thought this would be the club where I did my best work, and I really think that’s still to come.”

Peter wondered whether Toro or Coulson would be the first to tear up, but then Bucky shrugged gamely.

“Don’t take my word for it, though, okay? Give me a couple weeks to get my bearings, maybe, and then I’ll show you what I mean.”

Fury, deciding that was the note on which to salvage the event, motioned for Toro to do the honours. The captain stood, accepting the shirt Coulson offered him.

“Whoa,” Bucky said quietly. “That’s more red, white and blue than the US team.”

“Shut up,” Toro grinned.

“You dated a goalkeeper for six years, we already know you don’t care how bad the shirts are.”

Stephanie managed to giggle and glower at the same time.

“I will hurt you, Toro Raymond.”

“She will, you know.”

“Take the damn shirt, Barnes.”

Even Fury was smiling by the time he did; Toro decided handshakes were for people who hadn’t been friends half their lives and pulled his best friend into a bone-crushing hug.

“Welcome back,” he said quietly, then grinned and shoved his friend towards the press.

“Talk to at least one of these people before you go make out with your wife, okay? For heaven’s sake, you haven’t even got your studs on and I already feel like a kid again.”

Which, Peter thought as he jumped to his feet along with half their team, was one of the best ways to play football professionally.

“This is gonna be awesome,” he said to no one in particular. Barton shook his head. 

“It’s going to be _something_ , I'll give you that.”

**Author's Note:**

> titles and themes from Invictus by William Ernest Henley, who apparently wrote the poem while recovering from chronic injury including the loss of one leg (and almost of the other). this is basically the first half of the comeback story I thought I'd write; maybe I'll do the second half for Euro 2016?
> 
> the accident here is based on that genuinely horrifying moment in 1982 (which I was not alive to see, but which is on youtube if anyone really wants to traumatize themselves) when Harald Schumacher (very accidentally) almost killed a French defender by shoulder-checking him in the face when they were both going for the ball. Happily that guy went on to make a full recovery in time to win the European Championships with France in 1984, so thankfully no one died to inform this fic (though by all accounts people on the pitch weren't entirely sure about that at the time).


End file.
